


Inquisition²

by MrsMink



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Corypheus looks weird, Epic Bromance, Lavellan hugging trees, M/M, Mainly Canon Compliant, Trevelyan loves swearwords, Two Inquisitors AU, not for long though, slight male Lavellan/male Trevelyan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMink/pseuds/MrsMink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if there was not only one dork to touch Corypheus' orb, but two?<br/>Both at the same time at the wrong place, Oliver Trevelyan and Parivell Lavellan are now marked as the Heralds of Andraste. Follow them on their epic quest to save Thedas - full of love, friendship, violence and two dorky Inquisitors.<br/>Genre: slow building romantic Fantasy Comedy (I guess...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Fateful Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the deal: My bestie and I wondered how our two Inquisitors would get along. And that's how we created an AU where there are actually two Inquisitors.  
> The story follows the basic plotline of the game, but I won't tell the whole story again. This piece follows the characters behind the scenes, so if you haven't played the game you will probably have no idea what the hell's going on x)  
> I may have changed some details in the timeline, 'deleted' things or added new events, but like I said, it's the same basic plot.  
> I don't know if anybody is interested in reading about those two making stupid jokes, but if even one person is, it's worth uploading :)
> 
> PS.: The story isn't finished and I don't know how long it will be in the end. As for tags, warnings, etc.: So far there is no real depiciton of violence, but there will be I guess. As I develop the romantic relationships, the rating may as well change from T to M or even E, but I don't know that yet. This story is full of surprises for me as well. :D

He looked across the room. This Conclave was even more boring than in his wildest (or rather dullest) dreams. Mages and Templars were spread all over the big main hall of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He wasn’t exactly excited when the Keeper chose him, Parivell Lavellan, to infiltrate the meeting where all those important people had gathered to discuss the current war between mages and, well, the rest of the world. But his Clan needed this information, he understood that much. The Dalish would have to fathom the impact the decisions would have on the People, whether the status quo remained or whether they had to move.

Still. So far the Conclave had been as exciting as a Nug fight. Ever saw a Nug fight? Exactly.

 

He let his gaze wander. So far, his search for some kind of cake buffet had utterly failed. He had hoped that there would be lots to eat, because all those people here had to fill up on energy some time, right? And since Parivell had been a sweet tooth for as long as he can think, he had even prayed to Mythal for Cakes. In vain, as it seemed.

Then his eyes met with those of a young man. He had tanned skin, dark, fluffy hair on top of his head, the sides were shaved. His eyes had a soft amber tone matching his skin. And wow, those were some broad shoulders. He could probably hug him thrice.

Parivell wasn’t a small elf. He considered his height about average. What was more noticeable was his exceptionally tiny build. Everything about him was slender. His arms, his fingers, legs and even his waist. Matched with a quite feminine face, one could easily mistake him for a woman. Well, except for the lack of boobs of course.

There was no point in denying the fact that he looked just like his mother. A fact, that Parivell was rather proud of than ashamed. After all, she WAS the most beautiful woman in their Clan. In Dalish Clans, everybody is considered family. So they respected Parivell as much as anybody else. But there had always been comments and jokes on his girly looks. His friends put him on the girls’ team every damn time. And although they didn’t really mean harm, he more than often was sick of each and everyone of them. At times like those, he used to cling to his mother. She was usually around her other female friends, weaving baskets or flowers, cooking and other “woman-stuff”. And Parivell gladly helped, because the women absolutely adored him. Being an expert for flower crowns didn’t exactly help with his status as a man though.

Thank the gods, that wasn’t the only thing he was good at. Nobody would seriously mess with him, since he wielded his two daggers like he was born with them. He actually enjoyed fighting more than any of his peers. He spent hour after hour for years training with two daggers or short swords. He was quick and flexible so he could make himself nearly invisible in a forest. Unfortunately, life in an Dalish encampment didn’t give him much opportunity to experience real fights. The Shemlen rarely came across their camps. But when they attacked, Parivell was always in the front row. He loved the rush of blood through his veins and the splatter of his enemy’s blood on his face. He always felt a bit guilty afterwards for feeling that way, so he never told that anybody.

As he grew older and hence more skilled and dangerous, he was one of the best hunters of the Clan. But their respect didn’t matter to him as much as the proud smile on his father’s face. Which was, ironically, not nearly as handsome as his own. It was edgy, bestrewn with scars and weathered. Not even the black Valaslin, the tattoo of one of the gods, could hide the fact. One could severely doubt that this man was really the father of the boy with flawless skin which had rather the colour of snow and jet-black hair like finest silk. Speaking of snow, Parivells eyes were the lightest shade of blue, a gaze like ice, the other clan members often said. And that was not even negative, but more of a compliment, since ice was considered a very beautiful whim of nature.

He sometimes wondered if it was that piercing gaze that drew other men to him like flies. Or was he just that much of a beautiful girl that they actually didn’t care that he was not? Whatever it was, Parivell certainly wouldn’t complain. He liked to have his fun and mess around and since he never really craved the attention of women, he was more than happy to have a certain effect on the male side of the population.

An effect he intended to use right now. At the Conclave. Where he had actual work to do. He couldn’t care less when staring at the handsome, unbelievable manly man across the room. Who was staring back. And that for a while now. Good, he thought to himself and and felt the excitement of hunting deep in his stomach, a devious grin slowly creeping onto his face. This man would be his. When he saw the man smiling back –that mountain of shoulder muscle actually looked cute when smiling – Parivell took his first steps in his direction. Soaking in the sight of his prey, he stopped right in front of him and whispered into the strangers ear.

“Bored?”

“Maker, yes!” A voice as smooth as a Halla’s fur. At the same time deep and soothing. This just kept getting better.

“So. I haven’t really seen much of this place so far. It’s the first time I’m here.” Parivell said nonchalantly.

“Same for me. Not sure I want to see any more if it’s the same level of exciting as here.” Ser Handsome said.

“Want to try it out and take a…good…deep…look at your possibilities?” He was going all out here, biting his lip as slowly as possible.

“Yeah…Sure thing.” The other man said grinning in a deliciously seductive way.

 

Well. That was easy.

 

* * *

 

He hated parties. At least the ones he was normally forced to go to. Hordes of noblemen, hushed whispers, like a pack of wolves on the hunt for some juicy gossip. It was always about the façade. Clothes, hair, who had the biggest mansion, the biggest hunting ground and so on and so on. Oliver Trevelyan despised it. There were good points too though. Food for example. Really, the buffets were always huge. He wondered if noblemen everywhere in Thedas were so obsessed with the catering or if that was a Freemarches thing.

Another thing why parties sometimes turned out quite nice was the hunger of the elite for amusement and entertainment. Bodily desires in particular were always popular. That made it easy for Oliver to snatch away one of those young merchant princes or perhaps a duke for a little “entertainment” of their own. The girls and women never really caught his interest. For all of his life, he just couldn’t handle their behavior in the noble class. They spent hours arranging their hair, wore too much makeup and were always so over the top with everything. If Oliver would have to name one thing he didn’t like, it was fake people. Of course there were some exceptions and he never had the chance to get to know a lot of “ordinary” people, so it could be different there. And to be honest, many men he knew were huge assholes and intent to always get what they want. Maybe some women didn’t quite have a choice and were forced into that kind of behavior? His favorite cousin, Catrice Trevelyan was a good example for the contrary. A fearsome lady. Always beating something up. But then, Oliver sometimes doubted if she just was born into the wrong body.

Anyway, on to point three why parties are eventually fun. Oh, wait. There is no point three. And sex and food may be nice, but seriously, he needed a bit more than that for an enjoyable evening. (Or maybe not, depnds on the sex and food quality.)

The “party” he attended right now, did not have more. If anything, it offered him even less!

His mother insisted that he go to the Temple of Sacred Ashes in Ferelden, so he could have an eye on the Conclave that was held here. Templars, Chantry VIPs and Mages discussing about the ongoing rebellion and possible solutions. Oliver could see how this might have an impact on his family’s business. They were powerful merchants and the war threatened their extensive network. But why did he have to go? His older brother knew a lot more about the business. Surely he could take a few days off or something!

The meeting hadn’t really started so far but it already was BORING! He tried his old trick and using his role as his father’s favorite. He literally pleaded to let him stay in Ostwick. His father was not fond of Parties and diplomacy as well. He usually pretended to have important work to do and couldn’t possibly attend. But this time his mother really insisted. That just meant that his father didn’t stand a chance. At all.

So here he was. But where were the snacks? He almost wished for some Templar to snap and attack a random mage. At least something would happen. Oliver liked excitement. He liked fighting and brawling and, well, things men do.

Just in that moment, he caught a man staring at him from across the room. For one second he wasn’t sure if that actually was a man. But that only lasted for the first glance. He had a very soft and feminine face, but he was obviously a man. And an elf. Those pointy ears were huge! Oliver wasn’t normally into elves. Not that he ever tried it. But the circles he normally moved in were almost exclusively human. And the few elven servants he saw at some of the parties were to busy with different thing that he never paid them much attention.

But something about this particular elf caught his eye. He couldn’t pin it down, but there was definitely something about him. That extremely delicate body. As if he could break if you so much as touched him. The pale white skin, framed by black hair that fell over his narrow shoulders on one side. The other side was partly shaved. It gave him a slightly mischievous look. Same as the grin that was now creeping on the elves face. Maker damn it! He had stared at him for too long, didn’t he? On the other hand, that was his chance of excitement, was it not? He tried to smile back. He was sure it looked ridiculous. The other man didn’t seem to think so, because he started walking towards him, scanning him with his gaze all the while. Oliver touched his shoulder, nervously. He felt his tense muscles. He was actually quite proud of the way he looked. His broad shoulders and back were a result from his long training hours with the bow. The girls always admired his manly physique. But right now, he wasn’t sure what to make of the elve’s glances. While he was coming closer he could now see a pair of piercing ice blue eyes. Like they could see right through him. And my, they were big. He was unsure whether those were the eyes of a predator or a puppy.

He hadn’t expect to hook up with a man at the Conclave anyway. Everybody must have something important to do here, right? That was the main reason his usual self-confidence seemed to fade a bit.

He was suddenly dragged out of his thoughts by a voice in his right ear.

 

“Bored?” The elf almost sounded like he was singing. The voice was so melodic it was mesmerizing.

Unable to think properly, Oliver managed a “Maker, yes!” He was SO going to ruin this.

“So. I haven’t really seen much of this place so far. It’s the first time I’m here.” The other man smiled at him, gently now.

“Same for me. Not sure I want to see any more if it’s the same level of exciting as here.” He tried smalltalk now. At the same time he sensed his composure coming back.

“Want to try it out and take a…good…deep…look at your possibilities?” Oliver was NOT a stupid man. He knew exactly what this meant and wouldn’t let this chance slip. The elf bit his lip. So slow, so sensual, it almost hurt to look. Andraste’s flaming knickers! This sneaky bastard was doing that on purpose! He had to. No way that someone would look like that all the time. Oliver couldn’t help a grin.

“Yeah…Sure thing.”

 

Maybe this would turn out not so boring at all.

 

* * *

 

Parivell turned on his heel, only turning his head one more time with a smug grin on his face, signifying Oliver to follow him.

And he wasted no time with that. Oliver barely managed to walk a straight line with his eyes fixed on the swaying of those hips. Left, right, left, right, left……The elf walked with a grace that generated a sudden heat in Olivers groin. At this rate, could they even manage to get out of the room?

All the while, Parivell was smiling in front of him. He could feel the gaze of his beloved stranger and he nearly began to run. Why had this gods-damned hall to be so huge? He could feel the sudden rush of excitement in his body. It somehow felt…forbidden. The big Conclave where the fate of Thedas might be decided. And he was seducing men. Oh well.

They finally made it to the door and walked along the corridor after it. Still there were people going in and out. Their pace became faster, impatiently now. Two corners later, after a quick glance to all sides, Parivell abruptly turned and grabbed his prey by the collar, standing on his tiptoes. He smashed their lips together and immediately opened his mouth, sighing into the kiss. He was hungry.

Oliver devoured those perfect, rosy lips. He never felt something so smooth. While he intertwined their tongues he traced the other man’s body with his hands. From the shoulder blades, along the back and finally to the front where he could feel the hip bones standing out sharply. He moaned. He didn’t know he had a hip bone fetish. If he had, it was perfectly satisfied now.

The elf was moaning and gasping by now as well. Unbelievably cute and hot at the same time.

Parivell pressed his knee into the buldge that was building in Olivers trousers. He could feel the taller man shiver as he caressed the rough stubble on his face –maybe not caressing, more like tearing his face off–, feeling the skin, colored like caramel and he wanted to touch every inch of it.

Then his elf ears heard voices and he froze.

“Still too close to the boring people.” He said in a sultry voice and grabbed Oliver’s hand to drag him further away from the main hall. The latter gladly followed.

 

When they pushed open a big door they came to a halt.

A woman was hanging in the air, some sort of green light surrounding her. People in armor were standing around her. And some weird, really tall guy in front of her.

Parivell and Oliver weren’t really in a state to assess the situation right now. They just stood their, with their mouths open.

Finally, Parivell said:

“Oooops, we’re really sorry! We didn’t know this room was occupied. Ummmm…..really…sorry to…interrupt…”

No answer. Then the weird man talked.

“What are those boys doing here?”

He had a voice like nails on a stone surface and sent a shiver down Oliver’s spine. Parivell, who was still holding his hand, squeezed it harder now.

“They saw too much. Kill them both.” The man demanded. The longer one looked at him, the less he seemed like a man but more like an abomination. His face contorted to strange shapes and eyes like death.

Before Oliver or Parivell could react, the woman in the air managed to knock a strange ball out of the man’s hand. He was shouting as the thing rolled over to the door. Both guys of curious nature, they grabbed for it instantly. Their hands touched the sphere simultaneously.

 

A flash of glaring green light. Then darkness.


	2. Why is my hand glowing?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have to move the plot forward a bit to start the actual stories, so have some glowing hands ;)

Darkness was surrounding Parivell. Where was he? And why? As his eyes adapted to the lack of light he could make out the shape of a lifeless man next to him. He tried to take a closer look. The man was still breathing and he seemed to wake up. Groaning he sat up, looking around. When his eyes met Parivell, he flinched.

Just as the rather clueless elf was about to say something, he heard a sound. Some sort of rustling. Tapping. Like an army of light feet hurrying over the ground.

When he finally saw the first spider-like creature they were alarmingly close already. He grabbed the stranger by the arm and ran. He had no idea where this direction would take him but he frankly didn’t care as long as it led AWAY! After several steps he could see a light growing brighter. He took that for a good sign and sped up, never letting go of the man beside him. The source of the light seemed to be on the top of some small mountain.

 

Oliver shook himself free from the iron grip the unknown elf had on him. By now he had realized that they needed to go up. And he couldn’t climb with one hand. Those spiders were remarkably fast and coming closer! Not good. Hastily he tried to climb up the rocky slope. Both men were panting and fear hung in the air. The elf seemed to have reached the top. Oliver was nearly there. Just a few more steps. The edge was only one arm’s length away. He would hold onto it any second.

That’s when the ground underneath him gave in and he could feel himself slipping away from the lightsource.

He would die here. Where was here? He didn’t even know…

As he was falling, time slowed down around him. He heard a distant scream and suddenly saw a woman. Radiant and glowing like the sun. And she took his hand and pulled him up. His weight made her unable to hold her balance any longer and she fell over the edge of the mountain. The spiders were almost at her feet. He had to save her!

“Go!” she yelled at him before he could even make a move, and the elf who was once again by his side tugged his sleeve almost gently. Only now Oliver noticed the swirling portal behind them.

“Save yourself!” The woman was screaming now. Although he wanted to, he couldn’t disobey. He threw himself and the elf at the portal and the woman was gone.

 

* * *

 

Flashes of light. Voices. Pain. What was going on? He couldn’t remember. Anything.

Parivell….Dalish….yes…..that was him. But….this was no forest. He forced his eyes open. Stone. He was in some kind of…stone house? The Shemlen built that way, right? He was sitting on the cold floor. As he tried to move he noticed that his hands were cuffed. A sudden rush of pain made him groan as green sparks flew from his hand.

 

Wait, what?

 

By Fen’Harel’s hairy ass, why was his fucking hand glowing?!

 

As if that did not wake him up already, a harsh voice was suddenly barking at him.

“What were you two doing at the Conclave?! Why are you the only survivors?!”

Parivell looked up to the face above him. A woman, apparently, with short black hair and a hard face. She was wearing some kind of light armor and was holding a big sword in one hand. He couldn’t help but be intimidated. He gulped. And thought it best to say nothing for now. At least not until he knew what the heck she was talking about.

“What are you two bastards up to?! Divine Justinia is dead!”

Justinia? That rang a bell somewhere inside his head. Conclave…yeah…he remembered a Conclave. It was blurry, but there was definitely something.

He followed the scary woman’s gaze until he noticed a man. He had to be this second “bastard”. And apparently Parivell was bastard number one.

Maybe he should try honesty here.

“I don’t know what happened.” His voice was barely audible. “I can’t remember anything. And I don’t know this man. I have never met him before.”

“Funny. He said the same thing just moments ago. How convenient to have this sort of short-time memory loss.” This time a slender woman with shoulder-length red hair had talked. She sounded calm, even amused by what she was hearing, which made her even scarier than the other woman in the room.

“But it’s true.” That was bastard number two. He had short brown hair and tanned skin. His face was rather attractive. But at the moment that wasn’t really of any concern to Parivell. He just wanted to get out of here.

 

Oliver was still in shock. He just couldn’t believe he was actually sitting here and being accused to plot the murder of the Divine together with some scrawny elf he had never even seen before. The pretty face was partly hidden by a turquoise tattoo, winding from his forehead to his cheekbones. There was a pattern on his chin as well. The elf was obviously one of the Dalish. But from what Oliver had heard so far he was sure that the stranger was as clueless as himself. What happened that they ended up in a prison? And who were these people that captured them?

 

And by Andraste’s flaming Knickers! Why had they both glowing hands?!

 

The women were talking about rifts and demons. And the “marks” on their hands. Great. So they were officially “marked” now. Was that good? According to Cassandra (the harsh woman finally introduced herself) the marks could be the only weapon against the demons pouring from the rifts. That was alright with Oliver, because it meant they were needed alive. Cassandra led them outside. What they saw then, left the two captives staring in awe.

There was an actual hole in the sky. Not like, a hole in the clouds. NO. It was a HOLE.

 

“Well, shit.” Oliver said dryly.

“You don’t say.” Was the elf’s response. “Parivell, by the way.”

“What?”

“Parivell. That’s my name.”

“Oh, Oliver. Sorry, not that fancy a name as yours.”

“I’ll get over it somehow.” An amused smile crept all the way up to his pointy ears. And when he kept talking he sounded almost…happy?

“Well. It seems we have a hole to patch. Shall we?”

Oliver nodded.

Cassandra was glaring at them the whole time. But finally, she uncuffed their hands.

 

On their way to the first of the so-called rifts they stumbled upon some demons who already killed a bunch of soldiers who seemed to belong to Cassandra’s “group”. She was more than angry at Parivell and Oliver when they picked up some scrambled weapons to defend themselves. But in the end, she gave in to the thought that it was probably better to have them alive.

It turned out that Oliver actually shot quite a mean arrow and by the time they reached their destination Parivell was more and more convinced that he rather liked this guy.

 

The rift was a strange sight. It looked so unreal and obviously didn’t belong in this world. Green strands of light were wiggling through the air. Parivell just killed off the last demon when someone grabbed his hand and steered it towards the weird construct. Heat poured into his hand and he broke out in a sudden sweat. The mark was stinging more than just uncomfortably. He felt it connecting to the rift somehow and he tried to push it away somehow. And then the rift was gone.

 

“You did it.” Cassandra stated, a hint of relief in her voice.

“Yeah. You did it. How did you do it?” Oliver asked.

“Urrmmmm….I….”

“Can I do that too?” Oliver sounded like something in between excited and scared. Parivell could relate, since he felt the exact same way right now.

 

* * *

 

Oliver could do that too. They found out on their way to the BIG hole. They were accompanied by Solas, the man who grabbed Parivell’s hand earlier. Solas was an elf, an apostate, had a shiny polished head you could mirror yourself in and seemed to know a great deal about “fade-things”.

Also new to their crew was Cullen Rutherford. He commanded the forces they had seen on their way. He had a thing for tactics as it seemed. And he was pretty as a picture. But Oliver would think about that later. For now, they had to close that giant rift. Or at least try to. He had his doubts, since it was on a whole different level than the other rifts scattered across the landscape.

But maybe together, him and Parivell could pull it off.

They stepped as close as they dared and after a quick glance at each other, they raised their hands. Intent to put this newfound power to good use.

 

 

Their hands were burning, the pain eating them up, swallowing their strength and resolve, until darkness once again surrounded them both.


	3. No Herald No Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen is pretty and the Heralds are Divas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for my sense of humor.

Once again, they both woke up and had no idea what had happened.

That made it the third time. In about as many days. That couldn’t be healthy, could it?

They were laid down in beds in a small hut made of wood. The air sweeping through the open windows was crisp and icy. They could see their breaths swirling up in little clouds. As they sat up, a young elven maid came in and told them that Cassandra would want to see them immediately. When saying that name she seemed not only slightly terrified.

Oliver and Parivell smirked at each other as the memory of that name brought back the events of the last day. It was the last day, right? How long had they been sleeping?

 

“Did we close that hole?” Parivell asked.

“I…don’t know. If we did, then it should be gone, right?”

The men rushed to one of the windows and stared up to the sky, searching.

“Damn it!” Oliver barked and then sighed.

“So, how ‘bout we pay Cass a visit, Oli?” Parivell tried to sound as carefree as possible.

“It’s Oliver for you, Pari.” Oliver said in a sober voice and stepped out of the hut into the cold air.

When he looked back, he saw the elf standing there with his mouth open. Then closing it. And opening it again. Oliver couldn’t help but laugh out loud. When was the last time someone rendered this chatty elf speechless?

 

“You know, Oliver, I thought you were kind of a nice guy.”

“Uhhh, thanks?” What was with that serious tone all of the sudden?

“Well now I hate you.”

And with an ever so gentle smile Parivell almost danced by him with feathery steps, towards what they thought should be the Chantry of this village, where Cassandra was waiting.

Oliver raised an eyebrow and followed.

Once they arrived, they were introduced to some new faces.

In front of the chantry they met Varric and Solas. Varric was a dwarf with an abnormal love for his crossbow he named Bianca. From what he told Oli and Pari, it was more of an accident that he was here but he chose to stay anyway.

Inside the chantry, there was Josephine Montilyet, an Antivan diplomatic. Although she apparently knew her stuff, Oliver couldn’t help but think that she seemed more like a girl than a grown woman. It was in the way she moved and talked. Not that it was a bad thing, no. She seemed quite nice actually.

And they finally learned the name of the red haired woman they met in prison. Sister Leliana. Sister? That was somehow hard to believe. All the more when she was introduced as the spymaster.

 

All of them gathered around the “War Table”. Should that name be reason for sorrow?

Parivell’s eyes lit up as he saw another familiar face.

“A wonderful good morning! Cullen, was it? It’s so nice to see you again!” He was practically beaming with joy. Subtlety wasn’t his strong point, obviously.

Cullen on the other hand was completely thrown off guard at such an open….display of affection?

Oliver snorted. So that little elf thought he would just flutter his eyelashes a bit and wander off with the commander? Just you wait!

“Don’t mind him, commander. The recent events scared that poor thing to death, so he’s still a little psyched.” To emphasize his words he put a hand on Parivell’s shoulder and squeezed, pretending to comfort him.

He took his hand away again when he noticed the glare of death directed at him.

 

“Anyway!” Cassandra seemed to grow impatient.

In the following, she told them, that more energy was needed to close that gaping hole in the sky. But still, people had seen them closing some of the smaller rifts.

“They call you the Heralds of Andraste. They think you were sent to help us in this time of misery.” Leliana explained.

 

“The Herald of…..you can’t be serious?! Look at that face. Do I look like a Herald of Andraste?!” Parivell was pointing towards his tattoos with both hands.

Josephine was the first to ask.

“You don’t believe in the maker then?”

“No.”

“But there has to be some reason why you are here now!” Now Cassandra was agitated.

“Take him then.” Now the Dalish was glancing over to Oliver. “I bet he’s as Andrastian as one can be.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Oliver’s voice was more like a growl.

“I didn’t. I just say that you’re praying to someone who doesn’t exist.”

“But you say your RIDICULUOUS elven GODS do?!”

 

*SMACK*

 

Oliver had expected some sarcastic retort. Maybe even an insult.

But never, NEVER did he expect to be SLAPPED across the face.

As his disbelieve faded, all that was left, was rage.

 

“You scrawny little bastard.” His voice was low, quiet and dangerous.

“Better scrawny than fat.”

“WHAT?!”

“Ever thought on missing out on one meal? Your clothes are practically bursting.”

“Those are MUSCLES you dim-witted little…!”

Oliver couldn’t finish his last sentence because he was already jumping towards Parivell, crashing into him and throwing them both onto the floor.

The air was pushed out of Parivell’s lungs and all he could think of was wrapping his hands around this idiot’s throat.

 

 

“ENOUGH!” The bellowing sound of Cassandra’s voice right now let both men freeze immediately. They weren’t really fighting, more like clinging to each other in fear.

 

“Oh, shit.” They both murmured simultaneously.

They stood up, hands behind their back and gaze to the floor.

Cassandra sighed.

“Alright, so what do you two want us to tell the people about you being the Heralds?” Back to business.

“Oh Andraste’s beard…..” Parivell stopped when he realized what he was saying. “Uhh, sorry, I mean…” That damn big mouth of his!

“You know that Andraste was a woman, right?” Oliver asked. To the elf’s relief he didn’t sound angry.

“So what?”

“Women don’t grow beards.”

“Don’t tell me you never saw a woman with a beard?” He tried to put as much disbelief in his voice as he could. Not that he should. But he just couldn’t help his joking nature sometimes.

“Sorry. Haven’t been to Orzammar before.” Oliver said. His face like stone.

 

…

…

…

 

The whole chantry shook when the new Heralds of Andraste started laughing so loud that they could barely stand on their feet anymore.

Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine and Cullen just stared at each other. What the hell was going on here?

When they just wouldn’t stop and started doing imitations of male dwarfs courting their women with cheesy beard-compliments, Cullen buried his face in one hand.

“Maker help us…”

 

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally stopped laughing. Tears were rolling over their faces.

Parivell put on a gentle smile.

“You’re not really fat, you know? Was just, well…sorry, Oli. I’m probably jealous of your muscles?”

“Don’t be. You’re just slender. Suits you, by the way. So…we’re good? Pari?”

“Even better.”

 

*at this point there is probably cheesy background music*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are welcome and I hope it wasn't too stupid xD I can't help myself, i drift into slapstick comedy too easy.


	4. Taste of the Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Heralds are stressed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for not updating. It has been months, right? ;_; I really am in love with this story and I WANT to continue it, but life has been a total bitch, so I apologize. I hope I can work on it more often from now on :) If any of you can still bear my sense of humor *hides under a blanket*

Days and weeks had gone by and after a particularly tiring visit to Val Royeaux, where they got more or less officially denounced by the Chantry and the Seekers, they were standing in the war room again.

“Soooo…correct me if I’m wrong, but to close the breach we either need more magical power which we could obtain through allying with the rebel mages, ooor we could talk to the Templars who…”

“Could help or maybe not, pure speculation.” Leliana interrupted Oliver’s report.

*sigh*“I WAS a Templar.” Cullen joined in on the discussion. “They would be able to suppress the magic of the breach and make it possible for the Heralds to close it.” He finished his statement.

“But they might be not as strong as you think they are!” Leliana said calmly, but decisive as well.

“Why don’t we just invite them all?” Parivell asked now.

“I don’t think that would be wise. At best, it would end in a massacre.” Now it was Josephine’s turn. “Not that any of it matters, since neither side would talk to us at all at this very moment. The Chantry denounced us, the Inquisition. And certainly faster than I expected. Most people still don’t even know we exist.”

“Um, would you mind explaining again why they hate us?” Oliver was still a bit confused. Just outside of this room were people praising him as the Herald of Andraste but the Chantry itself treated him like a criminal.

“Of course. See, we have no proof that the woman behind you two, when you stepped out of the rift at the Temple, was really Andraste. People are just assuming. And the fact that you declare to be her Herald…”

“I haven’t declared anything at all!” Parivell interjected.

“…is considered blasphemy. It may be just a rumor, but it is true that the Inquisition has done nothing to deny it.”

“You haven’t even asked for myyyyOoowww!” Oliver had grabbed one the angry elf’s ears and pulled.

“If they think we were sent by Andraste herself, people might be more willing to help us, right? Otherwise we would just be like any political force grabbing for power.” Oliver completed Josephine’s explanation.

“Correct.” Josephine smiled one of her little girl smiles and seemed content that at least one of her pupils seemed to understand.

Parivell was pouting.

Leliana started speaking again. “I know of a Chantry Mother who is currently in the Hinterlands, not far from here, helping the victims of the rebellion. Her name is Giselle and she wants to meet with the Heralds to make her own picture of the Inquisition and its goals. Her voice could be valuable when convincing the Chantry that we’re not a threat. Talking to her should be our first step. We can talk about mages and Templars later.”

“Alright. Then we should go there soon.” Oliver concluded.

“My agents have already secured part of the area near Redcliffe. Mother Giselle should be right there. Talk to Scout Harding. She leads our operations in the field.”

 

* * *

 

Parivell and Oliver had gone back to their small hut to rest for a bit.

“I’m still not sure if that’s clever.”

“Pariiii, are you still upset about your title? What’s so bad about being the Herald of Andraste? Not that I believe it myself, but we get one of the huts without holes in the wall at least. And more food. Because we’re important. I AM starving by the way.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. Isn’t the whole purpose of the Inquisition to dethrone this Chantry of yours? Look what they have done: Circles, Templars hunting for mages and all that stuff? Why should we kiss their asses? Doesn’t make any sense.”

“Our purpose is NOT to dethrone the Chantry. We are correcting mistakes, make things right and maybe change the Chantry’s view on some things I guess. And without the approval of the Chantry we won’t make any allies at all, which means we won’t change anything.”

“So clever, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

They were silent for a while, tension in the air. Parivell’s bed made loud creaking noises when he moved to stand. Then he walked over to the other side of the room, where Oliver was lying. The elf sat down on the end of the bed and put his hands on the human’s muscular legs.

“This whole Herald thing is seriously stressing me out. Me. I’m never stressed out, you know.”

“I noticed. But you’ve finally run out of jokes, have you?” Oliver didn’t bother opening his eyes, his voice slightly sleepy.

“Nah. My arsenal is inexhaustible.”

“Maker help us.”

“He can’t. He’s not real.”

“Oh not that again!”

“What I’m trying to say is that there’s not even a real forest outside. Someplace where you can just walk in and disappear for a few days.”

“Don’t you dare! Cassandra will cut down every tree in Ferelden to get you back.”

“Yeah…she probably would…but I still didn’t make my point.”

“And that would be?”

“I need to relax. Have some fun.”

“Go to a brothel.”

“No, I mean with you!!!” Parivell shouted impatiently.

“Huh?!” Oliver opened his eyes abruptly and sat up on his bed, looking at Pari and then on his hands which were still placed on Oliver’s legs.

“Sweet Maker, no!” Parivell’s eyes widened and he took his hands away quickly. “I didn’t mean it like THAT! Having fun with you, like in….paying a visit to the tavern, something like that. Going out. Not thinking about Inquisition things.”

“Oh. I guess that’s alright.” Oliver nodded.

“Great! Let’s go right now!” A joyful smile was on the elf’s face as he stood up and walked over to the door.

“Why do you say that by the way?”

“What?” Oliver followed him.

“Sweet Maker. What’s so sweet about him? I don’t get it.”

Oliver moaned and closed the door behind them as they went outside.

“Sweet Maker…”

 

* * *

 

Varric Tethras was already sitting in the Tavern when Oliver Trevelyan and Parivell Lavellan entered. He sat by the side and had the table all for himself.

Pari steered straight to him when he noticed the blonde dwarf. He liked his men taller than himself but Varric’s chesthair hold a strange fascination he just couldn’t resist.

“No fanclub to accompany the great author?” The two Heralds took a seat at the table.

“Not unless you found one.” Varric responded.

Oliver snorted. “I’m not sure we can handle any more responsibilities right now. Sorry.”

“No harm done, no harm done. Must be tough to handle a hole in the sky and in your hand. Beer? This one’s on me.” Varric didn’t even wait for an answer and just signified the waitress to bring three glasses.

“Just the kind of stress relief I was looking for.” Parivell grinned.

“You have to know Varric, little Pari here is totally stressed out.”

“Oh salty Maker, so much stress! You have NO idea!” Exaggerated face of pain.

“I’m not sure he can handle it. Look how fragile he is.” Eyes of a worried mother.

Varric couldn’t help but laugh so that the whole table shook. “HAHAHA!!!” He smacked a hand down on the table and wiped a tear of his face. “I guess I should write a bit or two about the Inquisition. You two make lovely main characters.”

“Aawww, you mean it?” Parivell was touched.

“Indeed, I mean it. You have that dynamic, it’s perfect. But enough of that. How are you two holding up? Being Heralds I mean. It all went on quite fast. Most people would take themselves more time, going from spy to prisoner and criminal to prophet.” The dwarf smirked, with a hint of honest worry in his eyes.

There was silence for a bit.

“Well…” Oliver started. “uhhhh…it’s weird as fuck.”

“Listen to the man.” Pari was raising his glass.

“So you don’t think you were sent for a higher purpose?”

“What do you think?” Oliver asked Varric.

“Me? Ahh, I don’t know. I’m not one for the Chantry, but I guess…it’s a huge coincidence that you two pop up just when we need you, right?” He seemed to think for a while. “But how about another round?”

A few rounds later…

“Ahahahha! So how’d yo do it? He’d never done a man before, right?” Parivell would be lying on the floor laughing if it wasn’t for Oliver’s sturdy shoulder which he could lean onto.

“Well I took him close, veeery close.” Oliver put an arm around Pari’s shoulder. “Told him he would miss out on the greatest pleasure he ever experienced.” He was almost whispering into the pointy ear. The owner of said ear looked rather dumbfounded.

“That’s all?”

“I have a natural charm.”

“Pfffttttt…..”

“What’s so funny?” Oliver glared at Parivell.

“Sorry, sorry. I mean, you’re handsome and so on but that was surprisingly easy, gotta admit that. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Well it’s certainly not the most exciting story in my repertoire.” Oliver said, nodding slowly and lost in thought.

“You’ve me for that!” Varric had sat in the tavern with them for hours, listening to their absurdly numerous bedroom stories. They didn’t even notice the author taking notes now and then. “But it’s late. Or early, whatever you prefer. And I’m gonna leave you lovebirds alone now.”

“Whaaaat, nooooo! Pleease Varric, don’t go.” Pari said with pouty lips.

“Nononono. The sad puppy look won’t work with me. Ask Fenris.”

“And we are in no way lovebirds!” Oli interfered. Completely off topic.

“So why are you cuddling him?” Varric looked at the two Heralds, amused at how they were clinging to each other like it was a matter of death.

“You don’t know anything of friendship, Varric.” Oliver explained decisively.

The dwarf just nodded. “Uh-huh. Sure. See you tomorrow then.” And he waved goodbye as he walked out of the tavern.

 

“What about Sour Maker? That sounds nice, right?” Parivell stared at Oliver, waiting for a reaction.

“Just wonderful little one. Just wonderful.”

Maker knows how they made it back to their hut.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think of our babies <3  
> And if I made any grave mistakes, tell me as well, English is not my native language. :)  
> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, stay tuned!


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